Things We Forget
by PersianFreak
Summary: An accident forces Sookie to reconsider the decisions she made in her past. AH/AU/OOC.
1. Trust life

I was floating on currents.

My world was dark. My senses reached out desperately, for a sound, a smell, a single sensation I could perceive and use to make sense of what was happening to me. The only hints were voices, whispers at the edge of my consciousness that faded as soon as I focused on them. I cried out, struggling desperately to hear, to understand, but the voices pulled back, leaving me floating in the waves.

I don't know how long I fought to no avail, but eventually there was change. Sounds became louder, smells became stronger, and light cut through the absolute darkness. My starved senses were suddenly overloaded as I broke the surface and opened my eyes. For a moment, I perceived nothing. The information was jumbled and difficult to decipher for my atrophied mind, but eventually my eyes focused, I took a deep breath, and the dull roar in my ears subsided.

I was in a hospital bed, attached to countless tubes and wires, covered with itchy sheets and my skin crawling under the hospital gown. I frowned, realizing why my vision was half-obstructed, and reached with effort to pull the oxygen mask off. My mouth opened but before I could form the words, my parched throat seized and I was lost to a fit of coughs.

"Oh my god," a voice spoke. "I'll get you some water." The figure darted out before I could register her presence, only to return a moment later with a cup and a straw. "Here you go, hon." She brought the straw to my lips and I captured it, the water soothing my throat.

"Th-" I had to clear my throat, and winced at the stinging pain. "Thanks."

The nurse smiled kindly at me, the corners of her grey eyes crinkling as she did, and I did my best to smile back.

"You're welcome. Glad to have you with us again."

"What happened?"

"You fell, rock- climbing." I frowned. My mind would be racing but my thoughts were molasses, glutinous and a deterrent to my brain's higher functioning. "You broke your clavicle and humerus and hit your head hard enough to knock yourself into a coma for three weeks." She nodded towards my side and I dropped my gaze, catching sight of my arm in a very elaborate sling. Jesus Christ. As if it had been waiting for me to take notice of it, my arm starting hurting.

"Wha… I don't climb." I had to struggle to find the words, and then to push my vocal cords to speak loud enough to be heard, and I found myself growing frustrated with it. I sounded like an idiot.

"Not anymore you don't," she laughed sweetly. "But anyway. I'm Meredith, I've been your nurse for the past couple of weeks here at Shreveport General. I already paged Doctor Sands but he'll probably take a while to get here. I think he lives out of town, somewhere in the country." She spoke so fast that I had to struggle to keep up with her relentless stream of words. "Your beau just left an hour ago but I'm sure he'll come back if we call him."

"My beau?" I had a beau?

"Gorgeous guy. He barely left your side." She fussed around with the machines and helped me get more comfortable as I tried to figure out who she could possibly mean.

"Uh, I think you're mistaken, I don't have a-"

"Sookie?" It took some effort to direct my attention to the doorway, where Tara was standing, her mouth wide. "Oh my god, you're awake!"

"Hey there." I could feel myself lighting up at the arrival of my oldest friend. This whole situation was so odd. I'd never rock-climbed in my life, let alone on a wall high enough to make falling such a huge hazard. I felt uncomfortable, and upset—I'd been given two pieces of information about my life that were not accurate.

"I'm so glad you're okay! We were so worried." She rushed in, tossing her purse onto a chair to clutch my good hand, her brown eyes wide as she took me in.

"She just woke up," Meredith supplied and turned to me. "Before I leave, do you need anything? Morphine?"

"Yes please." My arm hurt like a bitch. And my head too, come to think of it.

"Alright. Once Dr Sands has seen you, we can see about getting you something to eat. Something light."

"I'm not very hungry."

"Then you won't mind waiting until the doctor gets here." She smiled and left with the promise of returning with pain meds.

"How are you feeling?" Tara asked as soon as she was gone.

"Groggy," I mumbled. "Everything feels heavy." To demonstrate I lifted my head and promptly let it drop, groaning at the burst of pain. "Shouldn't have done that." Tara perched on the edge of my bed, still looking concerned, and my graze darted down to her abdomen. She was wearing a black flowy shirt but now, turned to the side as she was, I was faced with the third piece of information inconsistent with what I knew to be true. "You're pregnant?"

She gave me an alarmed look. "Sookie, that's not funny."

"How did I not know this, I saw you last week."

"That was four weeks ago." Right. Comatose for three weeks. Made sense. "When we went shopping for a crib, remember?" And we were back to the insanity.

"No."

"Sookie," she began, her tone measured, "what's the date today?"

I took a deep breath and tried to unscramble my thoughts. I was very good at remembering dates, I usually had an impeccable sense of time, to the point where I'd never had to use an alarm clock in my life. So not knowing the specific date today was a little off-putting, if not completely fucking frustrating. "Um. March? Mid-March?"

"What year?"

"2009." I watched as the colour drained from Tara's face. "What. What's going on?"

"Sookie, today is September 20th," she took a deep breath before adding, "2011."


	2. Be bigger than your circumstance

Hey kids! I figured if you're not following this story on my blog, I'd give you an update. If you ARE following it on my blog, then good on ya, you're seven chapters ahead. Let me know what you think! (If you haven't already).

* * *

I stared up at the ceiling, my chest rising and falling rapidly as the pain reverberated throughout my body.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." I closed my eyes. "Just exhausted. Everything hurts."

"It's not easy, huh?" Tara moved to the edge of her seat, her baby bump prominent in her lavender dress.

"I just keep thinking that it should get easier, you know, because I'm getting stronger. But it still hurts like a bitch." At least it didn't take me three tries to form complex sentences anymore. That was getting better at least. That was something to hold on to, even when my mind was stuck in 2009. I was twenty-six now, I kept having to remind myself, because I still thought of myself as twenty-three. And I still felt the pain of my Gran's passing as if it were three months ago when in fact it had been nearly three years.

"When did I start rock-climbing?"

"Jason got you a membership to the place in Shreveport for Christmas."

"And I actually used it?" I cracked a smile. Jason was notorious for giving crappy gifts. It would be just like him to get me a membership to a climbing gym when my physical activity was limited to running on my treadmill a few times a week.

Tara shrugged, a knowing smirk on her face. "You said something about wanting to get more built."

"Fat lot of good that did me." I regarded my good arm. Whatever muscular definition I'd had was long gone thanks to the three weeks I'd spent lying in bed.

"I don't know, you looked pretty good. Your ass looked great," she winked.

"My ass always looks great. Maybe not in this hospital gown, but in everything else."

"It looks great anyways."

"Why, Mrs Du Rhone, did you sneak a peak at me while I was lying in bed, defenseless?"

"I had to do something to entertain myself. Watching you sleep got a bit boring after a while." Her words knocked a memory loose; I'd been far too distracted with the reality of my situation to spend much time on the first minutes following my awakening. Initially I'd refused to believe that I had actually managed to forget over two years of my life and it had taken several newspaper headlines and me being handed my iPhone before I'd begun accepting the truth. I'd had a couple hundred unread emails, all dated between August 30th and September 20th 2011, and there were texts, from Jason and Tara and my assistant, Megan (who had been hired in 2010 and was therefore not in my memories) and a dozen other friends and acquaintances, some of whom I didn't even remember. I hadn't even bothered wading through the missed calls and voice mails. It was all a bit overwhelming. I had never realized how many small changes my life could undergo in two years, how many bits of information I carried with me at any given point that could become irrelevant in two years. According to Tara, I was no longer driving my '95 Chevrolet Cirrus, I'd been given a promotion, and the last season of _Lost_ had ended in 2010. And those were just the highlights. I wasn't even approaching how alarming it was that Tara was suddenly seven months pregnant, or that I had a tattoo in a rather unsavoury location, the existence of which had become clear to me when I had showered that day after I woke up.

Yup, that had been a bit alarming. Tara had barely been able to hold back her giggles as she'd told me about the uncharacteristically wild night a group of our friends had had several months ago, which had resulted in several less-than-classy tattoos for all of us. I didn't even want to think about mine.

There was something else I needed to think about. "Tara, when I woke up, Meredith said something about a guy who visited me."

"Who, Jason?" Tara reached for her purse and rummaged around in it.

"I don't think so, women don't forget Jason's name, it's usually the other way around." It was actually incredible, how notorious a slut my brother was.

"Good point." She checked her phone for messages before putting it away again. "Maybe she was mistaken?"

"I guess that's a possibility." I frowned. This was kind of odd though. I was pretty sure I was the only comatose woman in the ward, so it would be hard to mistake my visitors—who only showed up to sit beside an unconscious me—with anybody else's. Expect that I was inclined to believe Meredith; after all, she'd been right about me being into rock-climbing. And I couldn't help but feel Tara knew more than she was letting on.

But I let it go. I figured, I had a lot of other things on my plate. Dr Sands had told me that there was no telling how long it would take for my memory to come back. Retrograde amnesia wasn't a very straightforward condition, though apparently the amount of time I'd forgotten was an indicator of how long it would take for my memories to come back, and that was the most daunting thing. The only silver lining I could find there was that at least I had only forgotten two years. I'd snorted at that thought; _only_ two years. The best thing I could do, I was told, was to move forward, live my life as if my memories were never to come back. Unfortunately for me, that was exactly as hard as it sounded.

888

I padded shakily out of the guest bedroom, frowning at the one-sided conversation I was hearing. Someone was clearly frustrating the hell out of Tara, and she was trying to avoid letting me hear her if she was talking out on the balcony.

"No, she hasn't said anything, but she has a right to know, Eric." Eric? I didn't know an Eric. I sighed as I corrected myself—I didn't know an Eric in 2009. The conversation continued, "What, you think she did it subconsciously? Pull your head out of your ass for a second, would you?" Pause. "A ten-month-long irrelevant detail? You're being such a jerk right now." This was fucking confusing, and I was getting tired just standing quietly in the hallway. "That's why you keep calling to check up on her, right? 'Cause you're such an asshole?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm and there was another pause before she scoffed. "But not enough to man up, huh?" This time as she listened to the response, she sighed and when she began speaking again, she sounded utterly exhausted. "She's fine. She gets frustrated and then she's okay for a couple of days before she gets frustrated again. But she's fine. She's a tough cookie." I could feel a cold sweat covering my body and I grew faint as I sank down onto the couch. It was fucking upsetting that I could barely stand upright for a few minutes, but at least it was getting better. Two weeks ago, I could barely stand at all. Closing my eyes, I leaned into the wall and tried to tune Tara out.

"Sookie, what are you doing?" I opened my eyes and she was standing right in front of me. How the hell had I missed that? She regarded me with the look everybody seemed to be aiming at me lately—concern.

"I wore myself out walking," I offered weakly. "Give me a sec, I can drag my butt to the couch."

"You should have just called for me." Her hand rested on her stomach, the other pressed into her back in that way that all pregnant women seemed to have. I cracked a smile; neither one of us could handle standing for too long. "What's so funny?"

"We're a lively bunch, you and I."

"Good to see your sense of humour is unharmed," she rolled her eyes and followed me to the living room.

"How's the baby?" I asked once I was situated on the couch, amidst my various pillows and the quilt my Gran had made years ago.

"Good, she's kicking up a storm."

"She?"

"I got tired of saying 'he or she' every time. JB wants it to be a surprise though, so I just pick a pronoun whenever I talk about him-slash-her."

"Cute." I smiled. "Is JB okay with all the time you're spending with me?"

"Yeah, he doesn't care. He would probably be here with me if one of us didn't have to work to bring home the bacon."

"You guys are sweet. Tell him I read the book he got me."

"What, the Mark Twain biography?"

"Yeah. It was really good, thank him for me."

"Will do. He knows you're a sucker for biographies. Are you hungry?"

"Yes please."

"I'll get you something," she smiled and disappeared into my kitchen. Jason had been over earlier with some very yummy-looking samosas, and I was really looking forward to them. It was nice that my brother was being so attentive lately, even if it was in his usual clueless, self-centred sort of way. I was uncomfortable with my very pregnant best friend playing nursemaid, but she refused to leave, and I couldn't bring myself to be that persistent when I appreciated her company. It was nice having someone not even blink when I did something oh-so-very-2009. She would just set me straight and explain whatever the hell it was to me, and we moved on. It had been a tough month, physically and mentally. I was so weak, so very weak, and so clueless. It wasn't enough to have been asleep for three weeks, I might as well have been out of it for two whole years considering I couldn't remember any of it.

Except everyone else did. It was like I was being excluded from the world's biggest inside joke. It was easy to wallow in self-pity, but I tried to focus on the fact that I was okay, and getting better by the day. In the grand scheme of things, worse things could have happened. The fractures in my humerus and clavicle were relatively minor, and I would be okay in another couple of months. With any luck, I'd be able to hold Tara's baby when he/she was born. I'd gotten lucky, really. People had to live with far worse injuries, at least none of mine were permanent. I wasn't brain damaged, my mind was just a bit, altered. I would be okay. It could have been worse. I would be okay.

I just had to remember that.


	3. Stand your ground

**A/N: Man, I hope none of you guys who have this story on Alerts have been waiting since August, because I've been updating on my Wordpress. If you're new, welcome! I really only ever update regularly on my blog, so feel free to head on over and have a look over there and drop me a line or two here or there to let me know what you think!**

**You guys are the best, always.**

* * *

I grinned when he picked me up and swung me around, his familiar smell filling my nostrils and transporting me back like it always had. It was nice that my perception of this, at least, hadn't been altered by my head trauma.

"Whoa, watch the shoulder!"

"Sorry, sorry." He set me down and beamed, his light blue eyes warming. "I'm so sorry I haven't been here since you woke up." He set me down and beamed, his light blue eyes warming.

"It's okay, you're here now."

Tara took a turn hugging him, awkwardly despite the baby bump, and we ended up at the kitchen table while Tara made tea.

"So, how is Texas?" I asked.

"It's good. The restaurant is doing well but it's pretty much impossible for me to get away. I just don't trust Tommy to handle things by himself yet."

"That sounds like you."

"Well he's just a kid," he grumbled.

"He's twenty-three, Sam."

"Well, he acts like he's thirteen sometimes."

"Then why is he your manager?" I quirked a brow and he scoffed in feigned annoyance. I was glad to have him back, for the week he was visiting Shreveport. He'd called me pretty regularly since I'd woken up, and Tara had told me about his brief visit while I was out of it. I knew he felt bad about not being there for me, enough to leave things to Tommy for a little bit so he could come see me. I'd been in a constant state of missing him ever since his mother moved their family to Houston to be with husband number four, the one Sam disliked. Now, he offered me a crooked grin, and we thanked Tara when she brought the tea over.

"So, how are you feeling?" He turned to me.

"Good. Better every day," I spewed out my standard line and was met with Sam's disbelieving look, and Tara's snort. "Don't give me that. I'm trying to be optimistic."

"By all means, be optimistic." He held up his hands in mock surrender. "But don't bullshit."

"Well, what do you want me to say? It's hard. It's really fucking hard, physically and mentally." I shrugged. "But I'm a tough cookie. I'm good."

"Lucky for you, I haven't been around in the past couple of years, so you're really not missing anything as far as our relationship goes."

I laughed. "Thanks, bud. That's a huge relief." It was, actually. I felt like I spent the majority of my time playing catch-up.

"Have you talked to Eric?" He asked and immediately jerked in his seat, his gaze snapping towards Tara. I frowned, looking back and forth between the two of them. This guy again?

"Did you just kick him?"

"No, um, cramp." Sam offered me an unconvincing smile.

"Uh huh. Who's Eric?" I looked at Tara, and she took a moment from glaring at Sam to smile at me.

"Nobody. One of JB's friends

"Right." I was getting pretty fucking tired of this mysterious Eric business, but I knew better than to try and get information out of Tara when she was unwilling. And Sam, well, he was going to be next on the list. In the meantime, I had to approach the situation delicately if I wanted to get anything out of my best friend.

So I waited, until Sam had gone back to his hotel room and we were left alone, before I asked.

"Who's Eric?"

Tara choked, a little, on her second cup of tea. "What."

"Eric. The guy you were fighting with on the phone. The guy Sam just asked about. Is he the same guy who visited me when I was in the coma? The guy the nurses talked about?" All the female nurses had asked me about him, commented on how gorgeous he was, asked me how long we were together. It had all been a bit too much, at a time when going back into a coma had been quite appealing. "He is, isn't he?"

"You heard me talking on the phone?"

"I know him, don't I? He's someone I met in the time that I've lost. Look, I'm not an idiot, and quite frankly in the beginning I didn't really care, but he's just come up too many times now. And I'm getting tired of being treated like a child."

Tara looked at me like she had no clue what to say. "Why won't you just tell me?" It had seemed a bit insignificant when I could barely walk down the hall let alone climb a set of stairs, but I was doing better. I was going back to work and trying my best not to lose my patience when I was faced with the reality and the limitations of my amnesia. The people I didn't remember, the ones who were close enough to me to care, made an effort to be in my life. It was sweet, really, that my "new" neighbour Amelia still wanted to come over for movie nights even though I inevitably ended up asking her questions to which I already knew the answer. It was harder on superficial friends, who weren't invested enough in our relationship to bother putting in the effort to rebuild it. I tried though, to create new relationships, to apologize for my amnesia even though it wasn't something I had any control over. And I had Tara, who was about ten days from her due date, and JB, Sam, Jason, and Amelia. And my assistant Megan, who was obligated to put in the effort. Most of the other people at work were familiar, which was a relief at least, as I struggled to adapt to the promotion I'd supposedly already adapted to before my accident. My boss, who I actually remembered, had met with me to discuss me potentially taking more time off or considering stepping down temporarily until I was better. Of course I knew what his concern was, that I'd forgotten whatever it was that had made me qualified for the promotion, and I'd managed to convince him that I could still do my job. I spent a lot of time after work going through old paperwork, just to keep up, but I thought it was paying off. Dermot seemed to think so too, because he stopped hovering nervously, wondering if his amnesiac employee was still up to the task.

Still, I felt a bit like someone had hit Rewind on my life and I was forced to relive every conversation, every lesson learned, every bit of experience earned. Jason, the least tactful of my close circle of friends, would look at me like I was a complete moron whenever my amnesia became evident, and I tried not to begrudge him that. I tried to think what I would do if it had been Tara who forgot two years of her life, and that made things a bit better. Anything else that I struggled with, I worked through with my therapist, the one Dr Sands had referred me to. Dr Claudine Crane was very understanding, probably because she specialized in working with amnesia patients. I was also still seeing a physiotherapist, even though I was doing much better. Eventually, I was hoping to get back to wall-climbing if only to figure out what it was that had drawn me to it in the first place. That, and a pair of jeans that should have been skinny were a bit loose in the butt area, and I wanted my climbing-booty back. And my arms. I'd seen some photos, and I'd looked damn good.

So it wasn't really a surprise, or shouldn't have been, that I wanted to figure out who the hell this Eric guy was. I would have assumed he was someone who didn't care enough to put up with Amnesia Sookie, except I'd seen Tara's phone light up with his name on more than one occasion in the past couple of months, and she never took his calls in front of me. It was suspicious, and I fucking wanted to be in on this little secret.

"You guys… it's complicated."

"Then explain it to me. Who the fuck is he? Why did Sam expect him to be around?"

"He's not around because he has his reasons." Tara looked awfully uncomfortable about this. "Pretty legitimate ones."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "How often does he call you? Is it always about me?"

"Once every week or so," she mumbled. "And yeah, most of the time." So he wasn't actually JB's friend. Not that I'd really believed that anyways.

"Did I do something to him? Is that why he's avoiding me?"

"You guys weren't on such good terms, I guess."

"I want to see him."

"Sookie, I don't-"

"Tara Mae Thornton, I am fully willing to wait until after you've given birth to kick your ass, but kick your ass I will if you don't give me his address."

"Why not his phone number?" she whined.

"He's been hiding from me for two months. He's just going to hang up on me, now hand over his address."

Tara sighed and twisted her wedding band in her frustration. "You're a persistent bitch."

"You're too sweet. His address."


	4. Focus your energy on one thing

**A/N: Whoaaa, what. Hello. Another reminder that my blog is where I primarily update, and you should head on over there right meow. The address is on my profile. A huuuuge thank you to everybody who has read or reviewed or even briefly considered this story. Y'all are the bees' knees and whatnot. Let me know what you think about this one!**

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If there was one thing I could take solace in, it was my unwavering commitment to painstakingly filing every receipt and bank statement and bill I had ever received. I'd decided that I needed to take a look at my expenses and earning of the past couple of years, just so I would be caught off guard. I'd been doing well, back when I could remember it, and I was hoping that I'd kept it up in the past couple of years as well. I figured I was paying rent, student debts, car insurance and lease, credit cards, property taxes and regular old bills. I just needed to make sure that I hadn't somehow managed to rack up twenty grand worth of debt to pay off my gambling addiction.

So that was how I ended up sitting on the floor in my office with a glass of wine, wading my way through countless piles of paper. There were no nasty surprises so far. I read over credit card statements for 2009, quirking a brow at the airline charge in October, and wondered where I'd gone. Somewhere domestic, judging by the pricing, and the charge from the MGM Grand in Las Vegas confirmed it. Huh. It was a solid amount of money, which meant I'd either gotten an executive suite or I'd stayed for more than a weekend. I couldn't fathom why I'd vacationed in October. I made a mental note to ask Tara and moved on to November '09. Something was off though, and I frowned and took a closer look at the top of the statement. It was addressed to Sookie Stackhouse all right, but the address was wrong. I frowned; Suburbia Drive, that sounded familiar. I knew where that was, I was sure of it, I just had no idea how. I flipped to December, then January, and all the way to September, when the address switched back to my apartment. This made no sense. Opening the filing cabinet, I rummaged for the utility bills and pulled out the folder, patting myself on the back for having kept them in chronological order and then in alphabetical order within each month: electricity, heat, water, and so on. All bills for October '09 had the address of this apartment on them, and I flipped on to the next month only to find September '10 instead of November '09. Frowning, I kept going, hoping to find the missing months to no avail. Same with cable and internet and phone bills: September '10 followed October of the preceding year. Frustrated, I slammed the folder shut and sat staring at the piles of papers surrounding me. What the hell had I done? Where the fuck did I go for those ten months? And why did the other address look so familiar? Grabbing my wine, I took a sip before giving up completely and padding out of the office to watch some TV. I was halfway through an episode of _Supernatural _when it hit me. I gasped and scrambled to my feet, wavering thanks to the wine. I knew why the address was familiar. My purse was in the closet by the door, and the piece of paper was exactly where I'd tucked it into my wallet after my coffee date with Tara. I hadn't thought about it, hadn't quite worked up the courage to take any action with the information it gave me, but I remembered its contents. There, written in Tara's elegant cursive, was a name and an address:

_Eric Northman, 1035 Suburbia Dr_

I gasped and promptly dropped my wallet, watching my various cards spill out.

I'd lived with him. For ten months, I'd lived with that faceless visitor of mine. And something told me we hadn't been roommates.

888

Sunday mornings were my only sleep-ins. I loved them. I adored them. They were my own personal day of rest.

So when my house phone went off at seven in the morning, I was prepared to exact revenge.

"What?" I mumbled into the phone.

"Sorry I woke you up, Sook," the decidedly male voice blurted. I was too out of it to recognize whoever it was, but if they knew about my sleep-in and still decided to wake me up, they were going to feel my wrath.

"Yeah, you're gonna be."

"Just wanted to let you know that Tara went into labour last night."

"What?" I jerked and almost fell out of bed, dropping the phone in the process.

"Hello, you still there?"

"Yes, yep, I'm here. Did she give birth already? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, she did." I could hear the grin in his voice. "Lily Alexandra DuRhone."

"JB, that's wonderful! I can't wait to meet her." I threw off my covers and started looking around for clothes. "I'm going to head right over, okay? Do either of you need anything?"

"Sushi."

I chuckled. I didn't even remember most of her pregnancy, and I'd still heard more than I needed about how keenly Tara missed sushi. "It might have to be a supermarket brand. That'll tide her over until later, right?"

"Hopefully. Thanks Sook!" We hung up and I quickly tugged on some jeans and a sweater before jumping into my car.

When I got there, Tara was asleep and JB was seated beside her, a tiny bundle of blankets in his arms.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god," I whispered moving to crouch next to JB. "Oh my god, JB, she's beautiful!" He just grinned at me and I carefully reached out to stroke her cheek with a single finger. "She's so soft. And tiny."

"Do you want to hold her?"

"Can I?"

"Of course." He handed her over, both of us treating her like spun glass.

"Hi baby girl," I cooed and pressed a kiss into her forehead. She had that lovely baby smell that made me all hormonal and envious of my best friend for having a fantastic husband and a beautiful baby girl. I held Lily until Tara woke up and reached for her, and then the sushi I'd left on the table.

"Oh I love you," she sighed, offering me a gleeful grin.

"I know. Technically it was JB's idea, but I'll take credit."

I hung out for a bit until the nurse came in to help Tara shower, at which point I bowed out, promising to visit them at their house tomorrow.

888

"Are you sure you don't need JB to come pick you up?" I rubbed at my forehead. Tara was being very overwhelming, ever since giving birth. I could see how exhausting it was to have a newborn in the house, so it made no sense where all the extra maternal energy was coming from. It had been three months since I'd gotten out of the hospital, and having my best friend nag me about eating well and not overexerting myself was getting to be a bit too much. I felt good, despite my arm still being in a sling, and the occasional bouts of moodiness that apparently were to be expected after severe head trauma. I sure as hell felt well enough to cab it across town to the DuRhone residence for Thanksgiving dinner.

"I'm sure, momma Du Rhone. Go mother your real baby."

"You're sassier now that you have amnesia."

"They did say personality change is a side effect of head trauma. I have to go get dressed, I'll see you in a bit."

I sighed in relief and tossed my phone onto the couch. At least this was a definite improvement over how she'd been for the last month or so before she gave birth. A highly hormonal Tara who was insanely concerned for me was tough to bear, because a single word could reduce her to tears and then I was left feeling like shit for making her cry when she was just worried about me.

But I was actually excited about today. I loved being Aunt Sookie and doting on Lily, and I'd spent all of yesterday baking up a storm, the scent of pumpkin and pecan hanging heavily in the air. It was a nostalgic combination that made me ache for my Gran, but so did most things lately, and I did my best to brush it off.

I threw open my closet and sighed, sinking unto my bed. I was fucking exhausted. All the time. And not the kind that could be remedied with a good night's sleep and regular physio appointments to build up strength, which had grown more frequent now that my arm was out of the sling. But I was still tired. It was really wearing me down, the whole amnesia thing and the grieving someone who had died three years ago thing. I'd gone to Gran's grave last week, on the anniversary of the night she had gone to bed and never woken up, and I spent two hours just sitting in front of the headstone, talking to the only parent I'd ever known.

After the conversation with Sam, I'd begun stubbornly pursuing the Eric mystery, to no avail. Tara, JB, and Jason all knew him, and I had a sneaking suspicion that people at work might know a thing or two, thought I wasn't sure I wanted them to be the ones to tell me.

I wanted Eric, whoever the fuck he was, to be the one to explain it all, which was why I held back from throwing tantrums when my friends refused me. Though Jason had been quite close to cracking, kind-hearted and gullible as he was, until Tara had interrupted us. And then, I'd discovered that we'd actually lived together, which meant that we'd been together, for over a year I would guess since we'd lived together for ten months and I assumed we'd known each other for several months beforehand. Somewhere between February 2009, when my last memory was, and October 2009, when the address on my bills had changed, to Eric's.

Knowing this, I couldn't help wondering why he was so intent on staying away from me, if we'd been together for that long. My bills indicated we'd broken up September of 2010, about a year before my accident, so we'd probably kept in touch if he'd been made aware of my accident and even cared enough to come visit. My theory didn't explain why he was hiding from me now though.

Maybe, deep down, I was afraid of actually getting answers. I'd spent so much time worrying that I'd become someone I didn't recognize in those two years, and here was this mystery relating to that same chunk of time. I couldn't help thinking that the truth would not set me free, in this one instance.

At the same time, I was a bit torn between indignation that a faceless man would refuse me the answers I wanted, and weariness that it was at all an issue for me to deal with, when it had so many other things to contend with. With every day that passed I believed the amnesia to be one step closer to being behind me, and yet everyday I was presented with new things I'd forgotten. An email I'd sent, a manuscript I'd already read, a new restaurant I'd already tried—it was exhausting. I'd always prided myself on being someone to roll with the punches, to make plans but accept the possibility of it changing, but this was taking being flexible to new extremes. The worst part was having to explain that I had amnesia to new people, because without fail they regarded me with awed disbelief, and that got old pretty fucking fast. Regardless of my hangups, the Eric mystery was low on the amnesiac priority list.

High on the priority list right now was figuring out what to wear and cabbing it over to Tara's house. Within an hour of me hanging up the phone, I was showered and dressed in a clingy knit dress and sheer tights, my bright red toenails showing through the material. Wearing tights and the subsequent lack of leg-shaving was the one thing that endeared the winter months to me, the notorious summer-lover. I grabbed the pies, tossed everything into my purse, and tugged on my high-heeled booties to head downstairs and step out just as the cab arrived.


	5. Do something that scares you

_A/N: Updating FF instead of actually writing the next chapter is my favourite form of procrastination. Thanks to everybody for reading and favouriting and whatnot, but another casual reminder that chapter 12 of this has already been posted over on my Wordpress. So those of you putting this story on alert are missing out! =D_

_Anyway, let me what you think._

* * *

_I pulled up in front of the house in University Terrace and parked, exhaling at the feeling of rising panic. It was a nice place, very wholesome. There was a cherry red Corvette parked out front and as I walked up to the door, it swung open and the owner stepped out, coming to a screeching halt as soon as he caught sight of me. I swallowed hard and tried to remember the speech I had prepared for Eric Northman, the guy I knew nothing about who knew everything about me._

"What are you…" He frowned, shaking his head. He was, breathtaking. It was unbelievable how beautiful he was. I had lived with _him_? I was now even more sure that we hadn't been roommates, because there was no way I could have lived with _that_ without jumping his bones, daily. He was tall, so very tall, with broad shoulders and beach-blond hair slicked back from his strong features. Under the well-cut leather jacket, his light blue t-shirt made his eyes pop, and his long legs were clad in dark jeans ending in worn-out hi-tops.

Jumping his bones. Daily. Yup. And he was looking at me like I was water in the desert. That made me feel oddly pleased with myself.

"Eric Northman?" I asked and understanding flooded his features.

"Yes. What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me who you are."

"Tara wasn't kidding. You really don't remember me."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. It's nothing personal, I don't remember a lot of things." He looked like he begged to differ on that last sentence, but he held back. "Look, I appreciate you coming here, but I was just on my way out-"

"Where to?" I cut him off.

"Dinner."

"It's 3:30."

"I skipped lunch." He quirked a brow, clearly challenging me.

"And you're going out for dinner now instead of having a snack to tide you over?"

Eric smirked. "Fine. I was going out to run some errands."

"Your dry-cleaning can wait."

"My dry-cleaner is a very volatile man who doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Then this should teach him a lesson," I quipped. There was no way I was letting him brush me off now that I'd finally worked up the courage to come here.

"You're very feisty for someone who doesn't know me."

"You're being very dismissive for someone who calls for regular status reports on my recovery."

This time he laughed, a deep laugh that warmed me, and I couldn't help smiling along. "Touché. Well come on, then. It's too cold to be having this conversation outside." I stared at his perfect ass as he led the way inside and attempted to quell my blush when he glanced back at me. I toed off my boots and followed him into the beautiful house, taking in the modern décor and the glass black wall looking out onto the huge backyard. The entire first floor was open concept, save for the two doors tucked into a little side hallway. Eric indicated for me to have a seat on the dark brown leather couch.

"Anything to drink?" Now that we were inside, he seemed considerably less sure, a tense grimace replacing his earlier grin.

"Juice?"

"I have apple and a tropical beverage thing."

"Apple, please." I shamelessly watched him move about in the kitchen before he joined me, placing my juice and his water on the coffee table before sinking down onto the armchair perpendicular to the couch.

"How are you feeling?"

"Your Tara updates not cutting it anymore?"

"When I call, Tara berates me for fifteen minutes then tells me that you're doing well before she hangs up. I think she's losing patience."

"Who are you?" I asked quietly and he regarded me somberly for several long moments.

"Nobody, Sookie."

"You visited me at the hospital?"

He sighed. "Yeah."

"All the nurses thought you were my boyfriend. Except you stopped showing up once I woke up." I couldn't help sounding sad. I didn't even know why, but seeing him made me sad, and I ached with newfound loneliness. It wasn't just that he was beautiful—he used to be mine, I was sure of it. There was no other reason why I would have lived with him, there was no other explanation for him caring about my wellbeing. Or maybe I was just imagining it all.

"The version of you who remembers past 2009 wouldn't have been happy to see me there."

"Why not?"

"Let's just say you weren't very fond of me."

"Why, what'd you do?"

Eric smirked—a mischievous, knowing smirk. "I don't know."

"Why won't you tell me who you are? What's the point?"

"You're bound to remember eventually."

"Is it that much effort for you to bother telling me who you are to me?" I was getting frustrated with this bullshit, and not even the angry set of Eric's jaw could deter me at this point.

"It's not important, Sookie. I'm not a pivotal role in your life, you're not missing out on anything by not knowing who I am."

I changed my approach. "I lived here for ten months."

He stared. "Did Tara cave?"

"I checked the address on my credit card statements. I already had your address, I just put two and two together." Eric exhaled and sprawled back in his seat. "I always said you're too fucking smart."

"Is that what drew you to me?" I quirked a brow.

He sighed forcefully and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands—the picture of desperation. I almost felt sorry for him. "Sookie, drop it."

"No."

"Please?" He met my gaze, his blue eyes stormy, and I could have sworn I felt my heart clench at the emotion in them.

"I'm kind of running low on people who really care about me right now." I choked out the words. "You visited me enough that all my nurses knew you and asked me about you. I'm just, I'm not really willing to shrug that off." I had to pause to gather myself or I was going to start crying. I had my days of not doing too well with the whole 'it could have been worse' thing, and sometimes it felt like I would never get my life back on track. What if I never got my memories back?

"I just didn't want to hurt you." He reached out for my hand and squeezed it, and the tears started falling. Fuck. I'd always been like that. I could keep it together as long as nobody acknowledged it, but as soon as anyone tried comforting me, I would start bawling. And I'd barely cried once since waking up, so there was a lot of pent up frustration and sadness. Eric pulled me into his lap and held me, his lips pressed against my temple in an appallingly inappropriate move, but I didn't care. In the same way that I could pick out my favourite dress out of my closet full of clothes I didn't recognize, I knew that I'd once absolutely belonged in Eric's arms. Plus he seemed to think I still did, so maybe that was a sign. And apparently he knew exactly how to deal with a crying me.

"We loved each other." I said once I'd apologized for bawling in this pseudo-stranger's arms, and he hesitated.

"Yeah."

I felt myself sag with relief; I'd been right. I wasn't crazy. For now, that was enough. "I won't ask anymore," I promised, my face tucked into his neck. He smelled like some sort of expensive European cologne. Versace or Armani or something. I decided to take advantage of his proximity and rested my hand on his firm chest for a moment before I reached up to tug gently on a small section of his hair. Oh yes, I was crossing all sorts of lines, but Eric didn't seem to mind all that much because he chuckled.

"What are you doing?"

"I just wanted to see how soft your hair was."

"You always loved my hair." He tensed as soon as the words were out.

"I can see why." My attempt at lightening the mood worked but our little intimate bubble had popped and I awkwardly moved out of his lap. I had yet to touch my apple juice so I took a few sips before setting it down. "I should go." He followed me wordlessly to the door. "Look, I understand you have your reservations, but I'd really like to have you in my life. You're—You—" I sighed and tried a third time, "I like being around you. I don't know how busy you are, but do you think we can maybe hang out sometimes?"

Eric didn't speak for so long that I began thinking I was absolutely insane for even considering it. I didn't know him, I didn't know our history, who was I to think we could have any sort of relationship? "I'd like that." I blinked, blindsided by his response.

"Okay. Thanks." I handed my phone over and he quickly put in his number.

"I put my email in there too." He handed it back and watched me get my car keys out of my purse. "Are you supposed to be driving?"

"I have amnesia, Eric, I'm not mentally retarded."

"Okay." He frowned, not sounding very convinced.

"It's fine, really. Take care, Eric."

"You too, Sookie."

I stepped off of his porch and stopped. "Oh, and Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"You're going to have to tell me eventually."

"Or you'll get your memory back," he raised a brow at me.

"Or I won't. And you have no authority over my memories. I deserve to know, Eric, no matter how painful it was."

"Would you want to go through that, knowing that you might very well get your memories back?"

"This is my life. It's not a timeout, I have no intention of putting my life on hold until my memories come back. They might never come back, and I refuse to waste my life away." I hesitated, having shocked even myself. For the first time since September, I was willing to accept that my memory loss was permanent. It wasn't the end of the world, people lost far more important things, and I had twelve times as many years' worth of memories to outweigh my loss.

I felt Eric's eyes on me all the way to my car. I wondered what he was thinking, as he watched me walk away, and I felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over me but when I looked over the front door was closed. I sighed and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel, feeling the intense loneliness in my gut.


	6. Change what you can

**A/N: Thanks for reading, y'all! This story is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Head on over to my wordpress if you wanna read the next SEVEN CHAPTERS ZOMG. Lemme know what you think.**

* * *

Christmas and New Year's came and went uneventfully. Since Tara and JB weren't comfortable travelling with their ten-week-old, they offered to host Christmas in much the same way they hosted Thanksgiving, and I spent the day with my closest friends and my one remaining family member, who'd brought his girlfriend of the week with him. Tara even suggested I bring Amelia, which I did, because I knew she would love an excuse to avoid a pretentious Christmas party at her father's Hamptons estate. She was throwing a New Year's party herself, which I attended only to watch the drunken revelry around me, a huge grin on my face when I saw Amelia blatantly hitting on the gorgeous daytime doorman. I did end up kissing Quinn, our apartment building's resident douchebag womanizer, at midnight. He was getting a bit relentless in his pursuit of me, though of course that didn't stop him from telling me that he thought I was exaggerating my amnesia, as if that would endear him to me at all.

By the end of January, I was starting to think I needed a change, one that I could control. I'd been going full-tilt for four months and it was really starting to wear me down. I loved my job, my home, my car, and my friends. I could get a tattoo—another tattoo—but I was uncomfortable enough with the one I had. Which reminded me, I should probably get rid of that, though a part of me was starting to like it. It felt a bit like my very own midlife crisis, in my mid-twenties.

I ended up settling on getting my ear pierced, on the cartilage, one of the styles with the elaborate names I could never remember. Ten minutes of browsing the catalogue at the store and another twenty minutes in the sterilized room, and I walked out with a pinna piercing and a throbbing ear.

"What the hell is that?" Tara laughed when Lily took a swing at my ear and I gasped in pain.

"I got a piercing," I muttered and moved Lily in my lap so she could play with my scarf instead of coming up with more ways to cause me excruciating pain.

"Why?"

"I just wanted something different."

My best friend blinked at me before her understanding flooded her features. "Still nothing huh?"

"I get little glimpses but they're all so brief that I can't make any sense of them." I shrugged.

"How are the migraines?"

"The same. I don't think they're going to go away really. It's good enough that they've gotten a bit better though." And really, the occasional migraine wasn't as bad as amnesia, and I could usually deal with them with a couple Advil.

On the second day of my self-imposed makeover, I bought a box of hair dye and made myself a brunette. It looked good with my lighter skin tone, kind of edgy I thought when I would tuck it behind my ear to reveal my brand-new piercing. Even my eyes seemed more blue, I noted.

Standing in front of the mirror a few days later I realized that my body was finally back to looking the way I had in pre-accident photos. I'd been working my ass off for the past four months, mentally and physically. I was pretty much caught up at work and in my personal life, and I'd started rock climbing again, finding myself surprisingly skilled at it despite the fact that I had no recollection of having learned it. I'd had to find another gym though, to avoid the inevitable awkwardness, but I was finally back to looking the way I had in the photos from before my accident. I'd even gotten highlights, thanks to Amelia who was outraged that I'd dyed my hair myself when she, a hairstylist, lived right next door. They looked fantastic and, knowing Amelia's rates, I'd tried to convince her to let me pay her to no avail.

I grinned at my reflection and ran a hand over my abdomen and the faint outline of the muscles there. I'd lost a fair bit of weight during the coma, not that I had been particularly chunky to begin with, but I'd gained a lot of it back as muscle.

It'd been almost two months since I'd seen Eric though I'd heard from him when we'd emailed back and forth over Christmas, quite flirtatiously. But then that had stopped and I'd gotten busy with the end of quarter coming up at work. In early January his name had popped up in the news when he'd won some high-profile case he'd been working against one of the oil companies in Louisiana, and I'd actually caught his press conference outside the court immediately following the sentencing. He'd been articulate, charming the pants off of the reporters and expressing his satisfaction with the results.

I sighed. It still hurt, thinking about him. Despite all the improvements in my life I was intensely lonely, and I projected my longing for a companion onto Eric solely because I knew that at one point he'd wanted me and he was single and so very attractive. It wasn't based on anything real, I kept having to remind myself, even if we'd flirted via email. Clearly he wasn't interested or he would have gone out to coffee with me like I'd suggested instead of giving a vague response about being busy. The enigmatic Mr Northman was part of my _past,_ regardless of whether or not I remembered him, and there was no point in holding on to my fantasy's version of him. He was probably a dick anyways, I thought, but knew I was lying to myself. He'd been a bit rough when I'd met him but he'd been sweet too, regarding me with those beautiful eyes of his and holding me with so much affection.

But there was no point in thinking about him, especially since I was on the cusp of running late for work.

I zipped myself into the navy boat-necked sheath dress that, despite revealing very little, hugged my curves in a very flattering way. I'd only just bought it and had to admit it looked fantastic on me. Pulling my hair into a relaxed bun, I selected a long necklace along with my nude-coloured pumps and was out the door within minutes. A glance at the time told me that I'd managed to make up the time I'd wasted staring at myself in the mirror and therefore could afford to stop for gas as I'd planned originally. The gas station was practically deserted and I parked and hopped out, humming to myself as I pressed the right buttons and picked up the nozzle, looking around me as the numbers on the digital display began climbing. There was a teenage guy loudly flirting with the girl sitting inside his car a couple of pumps over, and I turned to follow a sleek black BMW with my eyes, as it came to a stop at the pump across from mine.

Eight gallons, read the display. I sighed—pumping gas was the most boring part of my life. Absently I watched the tall, well-dressed gentleman climb gracefully out of the lowered suspension and glance over at me before doing a double-take. He was handsome; broad-shouldered with dark hair that was graying at the temple and a piercing gaze. Well-dressed too, I noted as my eyes took in the sharp lines of his charcoal grey suit and pale blue shirt. I blushed, when I realized he was checking me out too, though I hoped I'd been less subtle than he was. I felt a rush of pleasure at the approving look in his eyes and mentally high-fived myself for picking such a good outfit to wear today.

The man smiled at me and I blushed, smiling back just as the nozzle trigger popped back, signaling a full tank. Shooting him one last look, I removed the nozzle and headed inside to pay, emerging to find him perched casually against his car.

"Hi," he called.

"Hi. Waiting for someone?" I quirked a brow.

"You, actually. I paid at the pump, so I had to hang out and wait instead of casually asking you out." He smiled again, a crooked smirk that reached his eyes.

"I see. Are you in the habit of asking out strange women you don't know?"

"Sort of." He grinned with plenty of humour and I couldn't help laughing. "So, will you have dinner with me? Say, Friday?"

I thought about it for a second. "I don't know your name."

"Oh, Jesus. Excuse me." He stood up and straightened his suit before offering me his hand. "Preston Pardloe. It's lovely to meet you."

I smile at his formality. "Sookie Stackhouse. It's nice to meet you too. I'd love to have dinner with you." I got a pen out of my purse and wrote my number on the back of my gas payment receipt.

"I'll call you."

"Sounds good. I guess I'll see you later." I gave him a little wave and got into my car, watching him in my rearview as he watched me drive away. It was a wonder I didn't crash into anyone, really.

As I arrived at work, I couldn't help feeling like brunette Sookie was already doing pretty well for herself.


	7. Keep on keeping on

A/N: Alright, so I have a couple of things to address:  
Firstly, (and I've said this before, but) I've grown kind of disenchanted with FF as a whole, so my posting schedule on here is on more of a "hey, what they hell, let's update my FF" kind of schedule. When I'm ready to post, it goes on my Wordpress. My apologies to those of you guys who have been following me on here, because your support means the world to me. But I'm too much of a control freak to rely on a website that could very easily decide to delete some of my more smutty stories. I'm not into that. So, Wordpress it is. As a reminder, **you can always Follow my blog via email**, if your concern is that you don't have a Wordpress account.

Secondly, I had a not-so-very-nice review from an anonymous person. I don't turn anonymous off, because I like hearing from people regardless of whether they have an FF account, and it's never worked against me. Having said that, if you guys have anything negative to say to me (and are willing to approach me in a non-hostile way) please don't hesitate. I like to hear from you guys. **And to the anonymous reviewer: I'm sorry you feel that way. I'd love to hear more from you if you're willing to not be anonymous any more.**

****Having said that, thanks for reading. You guys are the bestest.

* * *

Preston called me the next day, as I was watching the new episode of _Castle_. I set my wine aside and reached for my phone, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Sookie?"

"Yes it is, and you're interrupting _Castle _night so I hope you have a good excuse."

He chuckled. "Well I was calling to make sure we were still on for Friday, but I guess I can move myself to the back burner for Nathan Fillion."

Oh, whoops. "I guess as long as you're aware you'll be playing second fiddle to a devilishly handsome Canadian."

"I'll make a note of that. So, I'll pick you up at 7:30?"

"Sounds good." I gave him my address. "So what am I wearing?"

"I don't know, what _are_ you wearing?"

"Oh ha-ha. I meant where are we going?"

"That's less fun," he responded mildly. "And where we're going is a secret. Which means that I haven't decided yet. But I'll make sure to find something that justifies you wearing that dress you were wearing the other day."

I grinned, pleased that it had had the effect I'd been hoping for. "I can't guarantee that exact dress, but I promise you won't be disappointed."

"You're too kind." Preston chuckled, a low, warm sound that made me feel like a teenager with a crush.

"I get that all the time. So what will you be wearing?" I asked, taking care to use the appropriate tense.

"I don't know, what do you think I should wear, Miss Stackhouse?"

"Hmmmmm," I pretended to give it some thought. "I did like the suit."

"Good thing I have a few of those."

"Good thing indeed." I couldn't help grinning as I sat back in my seat and grabbed my wine for another sip. Nathan Fillion was forgotten about for the next hour and a half as we talked and the teenager-with-a-crush feeling only strengthened. He was so brilliant, a little bit of a hipster in his interests but not in attitude, which I liked. I felt a bit like an idiot talking to him because he was so well-read and insanely deep, though he brushed it all off without a single hint of superiority. And I loved that he could make a Kant reference in one moment and then quote _Will & Grace_ without skipping a beat. It felt like we would never run out of things to talk about, though we had to hang up when I glanced up and saw that it was almost eleven.

"Oh god, I have to go to work in the morning."

"Me too. I totally lost track of time."

"I know, I hope we still have things to talk about on Friday," I teased, giggling at the sound of his indignant grunt.

"I will watch _Castle_ as a last resort."

"Awww, that would be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Well if it'll earn me points, then I'm running out to buy the DVD's right now."

I laughed. "All right, Casanova, I really need to go sleep."

"Okay, okay." I could hear the smile in his voice. "I guess I'll see you in a couple of days."

"Yes you will. Have a good sleep, Mr Pardloe."

"Likewise, Miss Stackhouse."

888

"You have a date?" Tara sounded baffled.

"Yes, Mrs Du Rhone! I am capable of getting dates." I frowned at my reflection in the full-length mirror, unsure of whether or not I wanted to wear my halter-top black dress. Maybe I didn't want to wear black tonight.

"But, what about Eric?"

My frown changed in nature. "What _about_ Eric?"

"Aren't things… complicated with you?"

"Uh, our _history_ is complicated. Or so I've been told. What am I supposed to do, be celibate until he tells me how we got together?"

"Sookie."

"Sookie what?! What do you want me to do, exactly? I'm single, a fantastic guy asked me out, I don't see how Eric has anything to do with this."

"Okay, okay, don't get mad at me. What are you going to wear?"

"I don't know." I pouted at my reflection.

"That electric blue strapless dress?"

"Oooooh!" I ran and got it out of the closet, holding it against me. "Yes, yes, this is it." We hung up a little while later and I began the arduous task of zipping myself into the skintight dress. I ended up zipping it up in the front and twisting it around, which of course made my boobs look weird and I had to readjust them before I could get a good look at myself. The top was fitted, hugging my boobs and tapering in around my waist before flaring out into a bubble skirt that ended a little above my knee. I liked that it emphasized my waist, and that the colour made my eyes sparkle. I looked hot, I decided once I stepped into my nude pumps and turned sideways to check out my legs. I put on my Swarovski wing pendant and fixed a few flyaway bits of my hair before declaring myself ready, just as the intercom rang. I buzzed him in and got the wine set out on my coffee table, hurrying over to get the door at the sound of Preston's knock. I'd taken my heels off in the meantime so I had to reach up to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, noting the little scar extending out from his ear. He looked gorgeous in a tailored grey suit and crisp white shirt, and I twirled when I saw his gaze drop to my dress.

"So, does this meet your expectations?"

"Wow. Jesus. Yes." He shook off the dazed look and I tried not to look too pleased with myself at reducing this beautiful man to barely coherent words.

"Thank you. You're looking quite delectable yourself." He inclined his head with a smile. "Would you like a glass of wine before we go?"

"That sounds good." We got settled on the couch for a glass of wine and proved to ourselves that we weren't about to run out of things to talk about anytime soon. One glass later we headed out to his fancy car and he drove us to La Chaumière, for what was arguably the best first date of my life. That I remembered. But I quickly pushed that thought aside and focused on the look in his eyes as he walked me to the lobby of my building.

"Sookie, I had an amazing time."

"Me too." I looked down and swung our clasped hands playfully. In my heels he was only three or so inches taller than me and I found myself noting the gorgeous shade of his green eyes, committing it to memory.

"Can I see you again?" He asked with a smile.

"Yes you may."

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes you may," I giggled and clutched his lapels when his soft lips pressed against mine. He smelled amazing, not like cologne but just something distinctly Preston, and I found myself moaning softly into his mouth. His arm around my waist pulled my body flush against his as he sought entrance to my mouth with his tongue.

"Sookie," he murmured, cupping my face and resting his forehead against mine. "Sookie, if we don't stop now…"

"Maybe I don't want to stop," I smiled and captured his lips again.

"I've been thinking about how you looked in that dress all week, and now you're in this dress and you've been teasing me all night."

"How have I been teasing you?"

"You've been breathing, for one." I laughed and pressed even closer, feeling the effect I was having on him and eliciting a low groan. "Tease."

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"No I'm not."

"I should go."

"Okay." I let him take a step back and wish me good night with a last kiss to my forehead.

888

Over the next couple of weeks Preston took me out three more times and at the end of the fourth night, he slept over. I'd told him about my accident on our second date and he'd taken it well, telling me that he was there for me if I needed him for anything, which was sweet but not really necessary. Beyond that, to my relief, he didn't make a big deal about it even though I knew it was a bit of an odd thing to be dealing with.

Jason and Preston ended up meeting one unfortunate morning when my brother dropped by and took advantage of his spare key to let himself in. He'd assumed that since he'd been free to come and go as he pleased when I was unwell, those rules still applied and we didn't hear him until he walked into my bedroom while Preston and I were, well, otherwise occupied. The only thing that saved Jason was the fact that the cold January weather had resulted in us doing it under the covers instead of against the wall, which we both really liked. I'd shrieked at him to get out and then I'd reamed him out for not treating me like the grown-ass woman that I was, while he'd bitched about never wanting to see his little sister bumping uglies with some guy.

So that introduction had been a bit awkward, to say the least, though Preston had casually introduced himself as "the boyfriend" despite us having never discussed it, so that had been easy. The hard part had been introducing him to the Du Rhones; Tara in particular had been quite odd in that she'd been nice enough and welcoming enough, but not as friendly as I knew she was when she actually liked someone. I figured it had something to do with Eric, some odd reason she had for thinking I shouldn't be dating Preston despite the fact that he was perfect. It was probably my own mistake for telling her about the confusing rush of emotions I'd felt in Eric's presence, the one time I'd seen him. I'd explained my situation with Eric to Preston, casually withholding the emotional confusion, and he just didn't understand how I was so blasé about the whole thing. I'd given him the whole spiel about not wanting to make the rest of my life about the two years I'd lost and he'd understood, though he'd commented that if he were in my shoes, he'd be pretty pissed. It was easier to focus on Preston, instead of letting my thoughts wander to the intense comfort I'd felt in Eric's arms, twenty minutes after meeting him—again. That wasn't real, I kept telling myself. It was just an emotional hangover brought on by my subconscious, or something. If Eric had felt what I'd felt, he would have done something about it instead of being weird and awkward about hanging out and refusing to tell me about our past.

As far as I was concerned, I knew all I needed to know about us, which was that we'd been together and then had split up. I didn't need to know the details—clearly they weren't very significant. And Preston was perfect. Really. A little older than me at thirty-five, sure, but that was a bit of a non-issue. Nine years might have been a huge gap when I was twenty, but being out of school and having a job made it less significant. Besides, Preston was charming and attentive and the owner of two successful bars in Shreveport and a partner in a new pub near the university. And he made me happy, something I had been struggling to feel ever since the accident. Having Preston around was a pretty good reminder that my amnesia wasn't a big deal and that I still had plenty of things to be happy about.

But at night, watching the rise and fall of his chest, I couldn't help wondering if I'd felt happier with Eric.


End file.
